


The slavers and Hawke run across the Wounded Coast, and the Band of Friends Followed

by PheadreofWynter



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Attempted Kidnapping, F/M, Fenris Has Issues, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Fenris/Hawke, Protective Fenris, Rescue, Slavery, fenris cries, icky bits, romantic gestures from the homicidal are a little weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 17:39:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10496199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PheadreofWynter/pseuds/PheadreofWynter
Summary: Hawke is captured by slavers working for Danarius, and the gang goes after her.Set in Act 3 before Alone, but with Fenris as the only love interest.Bioware owns the sandbox, we here only borrow their grains.





	

“Bodhan?” Hawke called after she stepped into the little receiving room before the main hall. “I’m home!” She waited a beat then sat on the bench and started removing her boots. Wonder where he went, she thought. It was late afternoon and usually the efficient dwarf was waiting for her to arrive by now. She’d gotten used to checking in with him the moment she stepped through the door. “Bodhan?” she tried again stepping into the main room. She stopped dead in her tracks.

“About time you showed,” said one of the unfamiliar men ranging the room. Bodhan, Sandal and Orana were huddled together near her writing desk in a knot of the strangers. She inspected them for signs of damage quickly, they were roughed up but nothing looked life threatening. Hawke swept her eyes across the room, noted that there were really far too many to fight alone… at least without one or more of her servants getting hurt.

“To what, exactly, do I owe the honor of this armed invasion? And what will it take for you to leave?” She asked with perfect calm. She addressed the one who had spoken before, assuming this to be the group’s leader.

He chortled, his confidence irritating, “You’re coming with us. You’re all coming with us. We’re gonna take a little trip down the wounded coast you see, then a nice long sea voyage. You apparently have been a very naughty girl, and my employer would like a word or two.”

“You are planning on my going quietly?” Hawke inquired, still calm but redolent of unspoken threat.

“I have these hostages here that say you will. You’ll make us a pretty fortune when we turn you over, these three can go on the general block. They’ll make a nice.. bonus.”

“I have a counter offer for you Serah,” Hawke purred with a voice soft as silk. “You will let them go. Let them walk out the front door behind me, while the daylight is still shining. In exchange, I will go with you and not resist.”

“How do you see that being more profitable than me taking them along?” he sneered, convinced at his control in this situation.

“Because,” she stated, voice unchanging, “if you don’t, I will fight you. If they are injured, or Maker forbid, killed in this process I will burn this house to the ground with all of us still inside it.”

The slaver blanched and narrowed his eyes at her, “You can’t, you don’t even have a staff with you!”

The laugh that erupted from Hawke was full of dark promise, “From Minthrathos and still no idea of what mages can do?” She shook her head sadly at the idiot, while lightning grew in writhing coils about her fingers and forearms. 

The slaver stared at her for a moment, and Hawke wondered if he was stupid enough not to see that she was completely serious, that she’d take them all into death with her rather than let them become slaves. Then he blinked, deciding that she was serious, and turned to his men. “Let ‘em go,” he groused, “she’s the real prize anyway.” His men moved aside and her servants, her friends, slipped through the men and gathered at her back.

“Serah…” Bodhan started, hands wringing, how torn he sounded made a small smile touch her lips.

“Go Bodhan. I’m counting on you to get them out, to keep them safe. When you get outside go to Sebastion okay? He’ll take care of you.” She could have sent them to Aveline, but there was no guarantee she would be at the barracks, and Fenris wasn’t due back until later tonight at the earliest from the job he was on. Sebastion was the closest, and even if for some reason he wasn’t available the Grand Cleric would hide them at least, she knew she owed Hawke a point or two. Their distress was palpable, but her words galvanized the older dwarf and he chivvied Sandal and Orana towards the door. 

As the door closed behind her Hawke let the lightning fade. It was true that she could fight them, she felt no particular compunction to keep a vow made under this kind of duress, but now that the innocents were out of danger the game had changed. The slavers had said that they didn’t intend to kill her, so it was her job to stay alive until the others came for her. That meant no insane last stands in the hallway. She looked at the leader and gave a slight nod. Half the company passed her by, including the talker, and the other half at her back. She stopped to put her boots back on and then they too were leaving the mansion. The slavers formed up in a loose rectangular column and marched her away.

****************************************

Sebastion was in the library, looking up some ammunition for his next theological sparring match with Fenris when Bodhan ran in like a mad man. “They’ve taken the Mistress!” He threw himself at Sebastion and grabbed two handfuls of his tunic. “You’ve got to hurry! They’ve taken her!”

“Who? Blast man, calm down and make sense!” he grabbed the dwarf by the shoulders, his heart starting to pound.

“Hawke! These men came while she was out and kept us hostage and when she got home she traded herself for Orana, the boy and I,” his face filled with shame, “I never should have let her Serah, I should never have left her there but she told me to get them out, told me she was counting on me.” The dwarf started to leak tears into his beard.

“It’s all right Bodhan, you did exactly right, you couldn’t let your son and Orana get hurt, she never would have wanted that. But now, and this is important man, so think, where are they going?”

“I…” he looked off to the side, trying to grapple with his panic and guilt and remember everything the bastards had said. Slavers, so Tivinter of course, but.. “Minrathos,” he said firmly, “they said someone wanted her in Minrathos. They are taking her to the Wounded Coast to board a ship headed there.”

“Time to see the Grand Cleric,” Sebastion said, already moving. He would make sure these three were looked after, he knew that’s why Hawke had sent them to him, and then he would head for The Hanged Man and Varric. “If it’s of any help,” he said to the dwarf over his shoulder as they pressed through the Chantry, “it’s likely that you escaping with that information is going to save her life Bodhan.” Bodhan blinked, hope sparking in his ever paternal chest.

************************************************************

The hunters were aware that Bodhan had their plans, and they moved with alacrity. Once outside the city they clamped lyrium infused, specialized manacles on her, and a torc of the same make. It would keep her from using magic. She was hustled along at a jog as they made their way down the trail. Normally it was a dangerous area to travel through, but the party was some twenty five strong and most bandits and others would avoid challenging a group that large. She followed grimly looking neither left nor right and tried to lag as much as they would let her get away with.

************************************************************

Varric rubbed his temples, “Maker’s breath Rivaini you think I don’t want to be on the road right now?!” he demanded.

“Then why AREN’T we?” the pirate rejoined with heat.

“All together at this moment we are two mages, two archers and a dagger user who doesn’t wear pants let alone armor. We need the fighters,” he glared at her, “you know that. If we go off half cocked we’re just going to fuck it up and I, for one, am not going to be the one to explain that to Fenris or Aveline when they find us. If we even lived that long.”

Isabella stepped back, anger and frustration pouring out of her in waves. She wasn’t the only one. They were all jumpy as hell standing in the courtyard in front of the Viscount’s keep. They figured this would be the best place to intercept either of their MIA sword-wielders. Varric hoped like hell that Aveline was going to show first. There was a chance he could get her to wait for Fenris to show, and this would be better with everyone in attendance. He was pretty damn sure if the Elf arrived first though that would be it, time to go. As much as he was really not looking forward to a running trek followed by a daring rescue in the dark on the most dangerous stretch of coast in the civilized world, there was something he dreaded more. His right eye twitched, “Uh, guys? Just remember when he gets here you all should… um… back up a bit while I explain what’s going on.”

The sun was mostly down when Aveline turned a corner and spotted them. Sebastion rushed her, babbling out the story. Her face went gray and she marched purposefully at Varric. He took a deep breath and prepared to deliver his ‘we need to wait’ speech when he heard a noise from Merrill and followed her eyes to see Broody himself arriving from the direction of the docks. With simultaneous thoughts of extreme relief and panic, he made for the Elf.

“Broody…” was as far as he got before Aveline jumped in.

“Captured by slavers? What is he talking about Varric?” she demanded, coming up along side. Fenris’s face flashed with an ugly wash of anger and his whole body gave a single pulse of bright blue.  
“Ah… yes.” Varric said, “I was planning on…” his diplomatic response was cut off.

“Who?” Fenris’s voice was a growl of threat.

“It’s Hawke Fenris, they’ve got Hawke!” Aveline seemed to only just now notice the elf’s presence.

Shit! Varric thought as he found himself hoisted into the air by the lapels of his coat. The elf’s face was a malevolent snarl thrust inches from his own, “Where Dwarf? Where is she!” Varric was pretty sure he’d never been so close to death as this moment. Not even two weeks under the surface of the earth in the Deep Roads with mile after mile of vicious darkspawn, demons, and dragons in his path back to the light. 

“Put me down you maniac!” collided with Aveline’s “Fenris put him down!” The Elf hesitated for just a second longer than shut his eyes, forcing his arms downward. Varric could almost hear the creak of his muscles turned to steel with tension.

“I am going to forgive that, considering the circumstances,” the dwarf huffed, adjusting his coat. “Now, since you two have finally arrived, perhaps we could stop standing around, get our collective Maker-forsaken asses in gear and we’ll talk while we chase. Sound good to everyone?”

*******************************************

They were not far from the rendezvous point now, Hawke guessed, but the night was dark enough to cause significant problems with travel so the leader had elected to camp until dawn. She sat by the fire. They had bound her ankles when they stopped. The guy in charge here was pretty efficient. She had to admire that in a man. He was still the Walking Dead, but credit were credit was due and all that. Now that the watches were set he had come back to the fire and was giving her the once over in a way that let her know it could be a long night indeed.

“So tell me,” she offered, light and reasonable. “Who’s panties exactly did I twist in a wad this time?”

The man gave a snort of laughter and sat down, distracted for the moment. “And why, exactly, should I tell you anything woman?”

She shrugged. “Why not? It’s not like it matters to you one way or the other. I’d find out eventually when we reach our destination anyway.”

“Maybe I like the idea of keeping you in the dark. Letting you squirm a bit…” a fresh flare of interest in her person showed in his eyes.

She tried a different tack, “You run a pretty good operation here. You guys a formal company by any chance?”

He looked bewildered, “Yeah we’re the Steel Bones.” There was a pause, she waited. She knew she had him. A second later, “why?”

“You know who I am right?” she said, looking into the fire. “I mean, you were at my house, so you must. You have to know that I don’t work alone. My people will be coming for me. Whether they catch us here, or find me on the other side,” she shrugged, “doesn’t much matter. The point is eventually I’ll be getting out of this.”

“Is that a threat woman?” he cut in.

“Nope, just a statement. I’m a politically valuable. Even if this magister extracts a little revenge out of my hide for a bit, he’ll sell me back eventually. You know what those guys are like. Enough gold or favors and they’d trade away their kin, let alone some enemy their mostly invested in for pique.” The slaver was nodding, she made a good point there. “It’s possible that in the future I might have work for you. A decent merc group is hard to come by. Your men appear to be pretty disciplined, you didn’t kill my servants, you covered a lot of ground in the time since we left Kirkwall, the camp is efficient and secure, and no one has tried to pull my clothes off. That smacks of good leadership.”

He appeared to be considering this deeply for a time. “Won’t you hold a grudge?” he ventured.

“Well,” she nodded judiciously, “as to that, I’m sometimes inclined to forgive and forget. Revenge takes a lot of time and effort, not to mention coin, and knowing you guys are available and then not hiring you for some of the endless crap I never have time to take care of just seems…. A waste.” She returned her eyes to the captain with a considering look, and waited again.

“In return you want the name, that’s what you’re getting at here… right?”

“That is exactly what I want. It costs you nothing either way. Either I find out when we arrive and I get killed before I return to Kirkwall, in which case you haven’t gained anything but you didn’t lose anything either. Or I eventually return to my mansion in the City of Chains, which is what will actually happen, and you pick up a new, and obviously wealthy, contact who owes you a solid. The magister need never know you let the cat out of the bag. I can act shocked and surprised as well as the next person at the ‘big reveal.’”

He rubbed his chin and regarded her in the firelight. The woman was clearly either blowing smoke or completely insane. He remembered how she had kept her word and wandered off meek as a mouse after they let those worthless servants scamper off though, so he was leaning toward the latter. “His name’s Danarius.”

“Ahhhh,” she breathed. It sounded more like satisfaction than surprise to him. He was starting to feel a bit bad for the bastard at the other end of this trip. Thing was, he had heard of Hawke of Kirkwall. It was why he had so many men with him right now. She hadn’t put up much resistance, but she didn’t seem to be in any particular distress either. And he was damned sure she had meant it when she claimed she would burn them all alive. She wasn’t afraid of him. Wasn’t afraid of his men. She didn’t seem in the least disturbed at the name behind her abduction. Something was off here. Seriously hinky. 

He had thought for a minute earlier about having a go at her, Danarius hadn’t said she was to be kept whole or anything, just alive, but he’d changed his mind now. Something about her calm self-possession as she sat unarmed, unarmored, unable to use her magic, bound, alone and surrounded by better than two dozen men who meant her harm was making his skin crawl. He got up abruptly and went to check with the men on watch. Hawke did not smile at her triumph. She had both gotten the information she wanted and successfully avoided having an… intimate moment with one or more bandits. The latter was incidental at best in her mind. It was the name that had mattered. Danarius.

*********************************

Anders was getting tired. He’d been using his Spirit Healing connection to maintain a continuous Haste spell on the lot of them and it was starting to take a serious toll. He hadn’t resorted to any lyrium potions because he was their primary healer, and if Sebastion was right there were a lot of bad guys waiting for them. Not to mention he wanted to be ready to deal with a life-threatening emergency just in case. Who knew what shape Hawke was going to be in? He shot a glance at the Elf loping along a few steps ahead of him. If it wasn’t for him, he thought with venom.   
Sebastion caught the look and hoped like mad that they reached Hawke before the slavers boarded the ship, and not just for her sake. This group was on a hair trigger, and if it didn’t find satisfaction things were not going to end well. His own anger was boiling, and as hard as he tried to tamp it down he found it clawing back up again.

Faces grim Varric and Isabella ran side by side. Varric found that even with his much shorter legs he was keeping pace easily. Part of him wondered if that was due to Blondie or his own burning anxiety. Hold on Silver Girl, he thought fiercely at the night ahead, we’re coming. 

Isabella’s thoughts were more murderous. It wasn’t that long ago that Hawke had stood in front of the Arishok and refused to let him take her… after… after everything. She owed a debt. A debt as precious as her own life, and tonight she was going to pay it with blood.

At the very front of the pack ran Fenris, radiating a fury so virulent it should have lit the night like a dying star. Aveline and Merrill were right behind him. Aveline was again cursing the fact that she’d left Hawke’s pack of Mabaris at the training grounds before she ran into her friends. With the odds they were facing four large pissed off war hounds would have been damn handy. She hadn’t even thought of it till they were well away from the city though, and there had been no time to go back. 

Merrill ran alongside them, and tried to decide why everyone was so upset. I mean, it was bad sure, but this was Hawke after all. It only made sense to make all possible haste to her side but she wouldn’t be that surprised if they stumbled upon a huge scorch mark full of lumps-that-used-to-be-people anytime now. And Hawke would just be sitting there with a what took you so long? Expression. If not that surely they’d come across her sitting in the bandit camp, looking regal and self contained as a Queen receiving guests. She shook her head reproachfully, really, she thought, you’d think they’d have a bit of faith.

Fenris was burning from the inside out. His bones ached with the pain of suppressing the glow of his markings. It wouldn’t do to let the dead men know he was coming, until it was too late for them anyway. That it was Danarius behind this outrage he had no doubt. His guilt and shame were squeezing him, making breath a fight and causing agony as limbs that wanted to curl up in a ball and let the others kick him to death for putting her in danger were forced instead to run, fully extended under the moon. They have Hawke! His brain shouted in an endless refrain of fury and despair. Kill them. Kill them all. Rip them. Tear them. Blood like rain. Screams like music. Kill them… a different part of him was chanting in time with his footfalls on the dirt. His eyes were a wild lambent green in the moonlight as his strides devoured the ground.

***************************************

Hawke was still sitting up by the fire, one knee up to pillow her arm and head, when things went down in a handbasket. The night literally exploded in light, flames, blood, bits of once-people, arrows, plant vines and pointy swords. She took the opportunity to pick at the knots binding her feet and had just managed to get them free when the last dead guy hit the ground. She was suddenly surrounded by a crowd, all trying to both feel her all over and demand if she was all right at the same time. Trying to fend off the multitude of hands, someone hit a ticklish spot and she giggled and scooted backwards as fast as she could. Eyes stared after her with concern written deep enough to bleed.

“I’m okay.” She soothed. “I’m alright. You arrived in plenty of time to save the day. I knew you would.” Her smile turned a little wobbly, “boy am I glad to see your faces though.” She glanced around, looking for the one face that was missing, the one she had both wanted more than all the others and dreaded in equal amount. He was off to the side, facing away from her, his shoulders shuddering at the force of his breathing as he tried to calm himself. He must have felt her gaze because he turned. His eyes seared her skin as he swept them over her, fastening on the iron links around her hands that Varric was now trying to undo. His eyes moved up and caught on the closed torc at her neck, a collar made of iron fused with lyrium to hold a mage in check. The look on his face was a mix of pain and anger so intense she literally could not bear it, and she instead looked down at her bound hands, somehow ashamed that he had seen her like this.

He saw her shoulders curve inward. He saw the flush stain her cheeks as the shame took hold. He knew it wasn’t until he’d looked at her that she had felt it, there had been nothing of that in her gaze or voice when she looked at the others. If he had thought that he was dying of the poison of his roiling emotions before, he definitely was now. His breaths came in quick little pants, his heart thundered against his ribs. He went to the nearest body and punched his hand through its cooling chest, and ripped out the bloody meat that was its heart. He dropped it on the cloak the corpse had been wearing and went to the next to get that heart too. And the next. And the next. The wet cracking of bone, the sucking pull of the vacuum inside the chest and the cold slimy lump that proved they were all dead and would never, never touch her again kept him from the razors’ edge of madness that was so enticingly close.

They were all clustered around her, trying with varying levels of success and tolerance to ignore the mad elf mutilating the corpses off to the side. Anders and Varric were the only ones who kept sneaking glances at him. Anders to sneer and feel self-satisfied in his judgement of the Elf’s nature, and Varric because he was scared shitless that Hawke wasn’t going to be able to talk him down this time. Broody had issues. Serious, city-leveling issues. He was well aware that Hawke’s delicate touch at defusing him was sometimes all that kept everyone alive. Even though Fenris had killed between a third and a half of the slavers, Varric almost wished he wasn’t there at all. Oh well, he told himself, there’s no accounting for taste. Hawke worshipped the Elf, and Varric loved Hawke like a sister, and that, as they said, was that. 

Fenris had apparently finished collecting and now seemed to be picking up the cloak full of red squishy bits and… Varric made an inarticulate sound of protest in the back of his throat. That caught everyone’s attention. As he approached with the dripping, sodden mass the others backed up involuntarily, mostly with faces that were twisted with equal parts horror, disgust, and anger. Fenris didn’t see them. He stared at the ground, walking with exquisitely maintained control until he was a few feet in front of Hawke. He stood, trembling, and dropped to one knee, laying the cloak at her feet. In the dying light of the fire the pile of freshly harvested organs gleamed wetly. Aveline, who was less afraid of him than most everyone else, made to step forward and Sebastion, having a great deal more sense, held her back. Varric began to make plans about how he could get ahold of Merrill before running like hell when things went pear shaped.

“Fenris…” Hawke’s voice was full of a shy, flattered surprise, “thank you.” Anders made a strangled noise and Varric considered emptying what was left of yesterday’s lunch on the ground. She sounds like it’s a Maker-Be-Damned flower posy!

Fenris’s eyes had shot to her face when she spoke, searched it, drilled into her eyes to see if it was sarcasm. The torc was gone, and she had the tips of her left hand fingers pressed to her heart. Her eyes were wide and warm as she studied the offering, and a tiny shy smile curled at the corners of her mouth. His head jerked in a nod. She looked up and caught his gaze.

“I know I’m safe now,” she murmured, holding his eyes with her own, “I knew you’d come, I did. But I’m still…” she flicked her eyes down, and breathed a long shuddering sigh. Isabella thought idly that the girl should get some kind of prize for this performance, at least she hoped it was a performance. “Will you hold me? Just for a minute?” Hawke asked. He flinched, shoulders hunching for just an instant, body taut within a vice of crushing pressures. “Ple…” She never finished, because in a blinding flash of light and a blur of motion he launched himself at her, curled her body into his lap and bound her in arms like iron. His face was buried in the crook of her neck and he squeezed so tight Hawke started to feel a panicky urge to resist. Right up until she felt the wetness on her shoulder and realized that he was crying in perfect silence. She wrapped her arms around him in turn and tears blinded her.

“Could you give us a minute guys?” she asked thickly, not looking up. She heard her companions moving off, out of the firelight and she held on with one arm. The other smoothed his hair and hummed a soft, soothing noise of comfort as the tears ran in hot lines down her skin.


End file.
